“Meggie will be pissed,” Gypsy said morosely.
“She got a right to be. She’s coughing up a lot of fucking money on your behalf and you can’t even be honest with your motherfucker because of his reaction.”
“I just don’t know what to do. I was thinking about asking Meggie for a job, a permanent position. Derby won’t want me around her that much. The money she’s offering for a month is more than I’ve ever had at one time. When I worked the pole, I had to give most of my earnings to the club. Derby gave me a small portion. When he sold my pussy, I got nothing.”
Derby was a good president, and the Burning Hounds was one of their biggest support clubs. As an old man, though, Derby was a fucking asshole. He and Gypsy had been together for decades and he’d cheated on her from the fucking beginning.
Meggie couldn’t fucking stand Derby because of how he treated Gypsy. Everybody knew it, including that motherfucker.
“Derby said if she gives me a job, he doesn’t want me back.”
Gypsy really didn’t have to tell that motherfuckereverything. As much as Derby ignored her, she could’ve told him she was anywhere.
Her face crumpled. “I don’t know what to do. Meggie’s a good boss. Her house is always full of activity.”
“What doyouwant to do?” Mortician asked. “Nothing else important, Gypsy. No matter what Derby says, you have to do what make you happy.”
“I want to work for her, but I want Derby, too.”
“Prez’ll help. He’ll make your motherfucker see the light.”
“Derby might still refuse to take me back,” she whispered.
“That’s on him. He do what the fuck he want to do. If working for Meggie make you happy, then do it. He either accept it or he don’t. He sure the fuck break every fucking promise he makes to you.”
“Thank you, Mort. I need to get going.” She grabbed her purse and slid the strap over her shoulder. “I’m going have a ciggy, then text Junior.”
“If you can fucking wait until I eat, I’ll drop you off. You don’t have to worry your houseguest.”
“Are you sure? I live near Hortensia General.”
“Hang tight, baby. Relax. Have a few beers and keep me company while I eat.”
“Thank you, Mort. This means a lot.”
Mortician and Gypsy kept a steady stream of conversation as he ate his burger and fries. Since it was near closing and no one else came in, Tee and Symphony joined them after Mort finished eating. Gypsy and Symphony took turns choosing music that they danced to. Sometimes separately. Sometimes with each other.
“Get beers for you and me, Symphony,” Tee instructed, casually stretching his arm over the booth behind Gypsy, as Symphony arrived at the booth with Mort’s third beer and Gypsy’s fourth. “Then lock up.”
The bells chimed at the opening door.
Grimacing, Symphony glanced in that direction. “Sir, we closed,” she said.
“Door’s open,” Wally Jr., said.
Mortician recognized that motherfucker’s voice even before he turned and met his beady fucking gaze. “Call Outlaw,” he whispered to Gypsy. “Then hand me the phone so I can talk.”
“That’s Junior,” Gypsy returned. “And Outlaw might not pickup. He rarely ever does when I dial his number.”
Learning Gypsy’s ‘Junior’ wasWally, Jr.annoyed the fuck out of Mort and he scowled. “Call Meggie then. Tell her I need to talk to Outlaw.”
“Suppose he hears?”
“Then text Outlaw and Meggie,” Mort said in frustration. “That’s fucking better. Or get the fuck up and go to the bathroom andcall. One or the fucking other. Just fucking do what the fuck I’m telling you.”
“But–”
“Now, Gypsy,” Mortician ordered.
